


boy, i'll die to care for you

by WhoTheBuckIsStucky



Series: johnten hell :) [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oh um, Smut, but um we all know what this is people wanted more of talk me down so here we go, gotta say you cannot read this as a standalone, like.. nothing super heavy or graphic just like. some talk about, that sort of behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoTheBuckIsStucky/pseuds/WhoTheBuckIsStucky
Summary: Johnny’s first thought when he saw Ten for the first time was, honest to god,oh no.Or: Johnny falls in love just a little too easily, and Ten is just a little too easy to fall in love with.The highly requested Johnny POV of talk me down![will be following the same schedule as talk me down :) smut in both parts, but the first one is, of course, not very sweet.]
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Series: johnten hell :) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061408
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> im really glad everyone wasn't ready to say goodbye to talk me down cuz i wasn't either so! let's have some more pain :)

Johnny’s first thought when he saw Ten for the first time was, honest to god, _oh no._ He was still surprised, honestly, that he’d managed a normal introduction without short-circuiting on the spot. Because, really, how was he supposed to react? Ten was _perfect_. He had the sweetest, boxy little smile, the cutest nose, the prettiest eyes, and a certain air about him that left Johnny’s mouth dry and his brain void of thought. Even when they were young.

And god, the ways Johnny tortured himself every night over it. He felt so ugly thinking about Ten like that. How could he even think Ten would want him? He should have someone better. Johnny wasn’t really sure what it was. Maybe he was just set in being ignored, or he liked to be a martyr. But regardless, all Johnny knew was that he’d always been a little bit wrong. Even when he got over his initial turmoil of realizing he liked boys, there was the lingering fear that he wasn’t doing it correctly. He was too tall, too ugly; not lean enough to be pretty and not strong enough to be hot; too loud and extraverted to be cute, but not well-spoken or charismatic enough to be considered charming or winsome.

He recognized, somewhere in the back of his mind, that these were all irrational roadblocks that stopped him from being, like, happy, but it didn’t matter. He’d mentioned his concerns to Sehun one day in a sort of vague, half-joking way, and Sehun had immediately smacked him and told him he was being ridiculous.

“You’re not ugly,” Sehun said, rolling his eyes. “You’re very handsome, and you’re kind and you’re funny. Stop looking yourself up on the internet. People called me ugly, too.” Johnny knew that, but—that was different, right? That was just a couple people, and it didn’t matter anyway because Sehun hadn’t believed them for an instant. Johnny’s insecurities were coming from _inside_. “Sure,” Sehun continued. “Maybe you think you’re clumsy and you look weird now, but seriously, just give yourself a couple of years. I mean, look at me. Look at my members! We all looked weird as _shit_ predebut. Because we were still kids. But now look. I mean, just take Jongin-hyung. He looked like a baby a few months ago. But now he’s really growing into himself.”

Johnny wasn’t sure it would happen for him, though. For one, he was still some rat trainee with no stylist, no makeup artist—just a strict diet and a 20-hour day. And sure, so was Ten and almost everybody else he was friends with, but again, it was different for him, somehow. For Ten, his little imperfections—weird, fluffy hair, acne, accidentally overstepping out of excitement—were excusable, almost sweet. Johnny certainly saw them that way, anyway. But for him they were just another nail in his coffin. He wished so deeply he could be perfect—the perfect dancer, the perfect singer, the perfect son, the perfect gay—so that he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty over being himself. It would be how he’d make up for it—for the fact that it was _him_.

So he tried to convince himself he didn’t like Ten, because that wasn’t for him. It was off-limits, because how _dare_ he saddle someone like Ten with someone like himself? But Ten was insistent, even if it wasn’t on purpose. He hung out with Johnny all the time, invited him to meals, barged into his room whenever he felt like it. He was touchy and flirty—though, to be fair, he was like that with everybody. But Johnny fell for it, all the same. 

And when Ten ended up in his lap, kissing his breath away; when he ended up underneath him not long after, Johnny told himself it was all physical anyway. He’d been struck by Ten’s beauty the first time he saw him, so it was natural. And if Ten, for some reason, wanted him back, then all the better. But it didn’t mean anything. It _couldn’t_. If it didn’t mean anything, Johnny could sleep easy knowing he wasn’t taking anything away from Ten. If it didn’t mean anything, then they could stop whenever they wanted or needed to, and it wouldn’t be a big deal.

He always escaped quickly afterwards, and Ten did the same when they were in Johnny’s room. And it was perfect that way. Being a convenient, passing desire was already more than Johnny could hope for. And he knew someday soon, Ten would come to his senses, or meet someone new, or get bored with him, or outgrow him, and that would be that. 

But then Ten debuted—without Johnny, and his guilt grew. Ten consoled him in his anxiety as best he could, but he had new responsibilities now, and often Johnny was left to lick his wounds in solitude. And yet, Ten returned faithfully to him at the end of his long days, even when he was tired, even if it was late and he had an early morning. Johnny didn’t know what to do with it, but his greedy heart swallowed the dutiful attention whole before he could come up with anything else. And though the terrible feeling inside of him grew, so did his hunger for more of Ten, for _all_ of Ten.

“Thank you for trying to stick with me,” Johnny said to him one night. “I know it’s not easy, and inevitably you’ll have less and less time for me, but…” He sighed. “I appreciate you trying anyway.”

Ten paused a moment before responding, and when Johnny looked up at him, he almost looked sad. “I’ll always have time for you,” he said, and Johnny’s heart lunged in his chest.

“You mean that?” He turned towards Ten, suspended now by one strand of hope, though he knew he couldn’t dare wish for it, knew he didn’t deserve it. Ten nodded, and Johnny could do nothing else but kiss him.

“I can—tonight, I don’t have anything big tomorrow,” Ten said when they broke apart, almost shy. 

“Okay,” Johnny said, watching Ten as he took off his own clothes. _God, he’s so pretty_. Ten reached for the lube and poised to prep himself, just like every other night, but Johnny stopped him. He didn’t know what about tonight was different; all he knew was that he wanted Ten, and he wanted to actually make him feel good. “Um, let me,” he said, awkward and clumsy as always. He couldn’t quite look Ten in the eye. “It’s—it’s probably easier if I do it, right? Plus, my fingers are bigger.”

“Um, yeah.” Ten handed over the bottle of lube and moved to his hands and knees. Though he sounded confused, underneath it Johnny could hear that he was pleased.

Johnny really had no idea what he was doing—it was something oddly shameful. How many times had he and Ten hooked up? He was still awkward with it, unfamiliar with Ten’s body. He wished he could ask, but that felt personal, or just plain weird, so he clamped his mouth shut and did his best. And though he knew he wasn’t great at it, he could still feel Ten trembling in his hands, could still hear the small, aborted noises that he killed in his throat. He wished he could ask him to stop hiding them, because, _god_ he wanted to hear him, he wanted all of it—but then he wondered if it would make Ten uncomfortable, or if it would make Johnny sound obsessed. So he didn’t say anything at all; just added a second and then a third finger, patiently working Ten open as best he could. 

“I’m ready,” Ten said after a few minutes, sounding a little choked. Johnny didn’t know how to reply, so he just shuffled into position behind him, slicking up his cock, and pushing in.

It seemed like Ten was trying to hold himself stiff, but occasionally he’d lose himself and his hips would twitch, and Johnny’s hands found their way onto his waist, grip not commanding but still firm. There were a few disjointed moments as they adjusted to each other, but soon Ten relaxed, and so did Johnny. He kept his eyes on Ten, roaming over his delicate frame, the silkiness of his hair, the way his muscles jumped and bunched in response to Johnny’s movements.

Johnny was coming before he quite realized it, unable to stop himself from breathing out Ten’s name as he did. He came tumbling down from his orgasm, already panicking, worried Ten might have heard, but if he did, he didn’t complain; he was coming too, with a few harsh gasps.

He didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He pulled out and clambered off the bed, and opened the drawer where he knew Ten kept his washcloths. He grabbed one and turned back to the bed to see Ten already rolled over on his side. He handed the towel to Ten, who accepted it with a small smile and one second of eye contact. Johnny hovered at his bedside for a second, debating with himself. He quickly bent down and kissed Ten on the forehead before he could chicken out, and then scurried away.

And though they didn’t talk about it, exactly, there was a shift somewhere. Johnny didn’t know how he felt about it, really, but not much had changed, so he just let it be. It was nice most of the time; things flowed better, the sex was usually more comfortable, and the time they spent together didn’t feel as stunted and weird.

But still, the old guilt lingered in the back of Johnny’s mind. _You’re wasting his time,_ he’d find himself thinking. _Any day, he’ll wake up and realize he can do so much better than you. Or worse, he’ll wake up and think he actually likes you. What a waste!_

It was easy enough to push these thoughts away, though; Johnny knew if it came to it, he could turn Ten down. And sure, it would hurt Ten’s feelings a little, and Johnny would miss him, but it would be for the best in the long run, right? And it was presumptuous of Johnny to think Ten would even actually like him. It wouldn’t ever be a problem, because the former was by far more likely. _And that’s a good thing_ , Johnny tried to convince himself. _You’re just a placeholder until he figures himself out. That’s more than you deserve, anyway._

But even with all of this, sometimes Johnny forgot. Sometimes Ten was in his lap, looking down at him starry-eyed while he combed his fingers through his hair as they caught their breath between kisses, and Johnny found himself smitten. For tiny moments, Johnny was Ten’s and that was okay. And usually, he’d catch himself at it and break out of it before even a minute had passed.

Unfortunately, a lot can happen in a minute.

Johnny was halfway through working a fifth hickey into the pale skin of Ten’s clavicle when he came crashing back to reality. He pulled back, still hazy, thinking, and then smacked his palm against his mouth so hard his teeth cut into the inside of his upper lip. “Oh, shit,” he said, wide eyes meeting Ten’s confused ones. “Oh, _shit_ , you guys have filming tomorrow.” 

Because this was okay behind closed doors, on days off, where there was no one to see the carnage, no documentation of the aftermath; when there was no proof of Johnny’s terrible, selfish desire, no proof of what he wanted. But for Ten to walk around a set sporting evidence of Johnny’s perversion—that was out of the question. Johnny’s heart hammered in his chest.

Suddenly, it wasn’t good enough that someday, probably soon, Ten would grow tired of him, or that eventually, Johnny would have to bring this relationship to a close. This was a now-problem, and Johnny shook with his terror and his grief.

Ten took hold of his wrist, tugging delicately in an attempt to take his hand away from his mouth. “It’s okay,” he said, sincere. “I don’t mind. The makeup noonas will conceal it, anyway.”

Johnny leaned back, shaking his head to dislodge Ten’s hand. “Still,” he murmured. _He wants this? How can he want this?_ “We can’t—that’s not—like,” he struggled. “You can get in trouble for that now.”

“Johnny, it’s _okay_ ,” Ten said, insistent. “I’ll be fine. Chances are my clothes will cover it anyway.”

“No, I—no.” Johnny nudged Ten off his lap, unable to look him in the eye. He had to make it clear that this couldn’t get personal or familiar; if it did, then it would stop. He scooted to the edge of the bed, turning his back to Ten.

“Johnny,” Ten said, small and hurt.

“I can’t tonight, Ten.” Johnny steeled his voice. “Not after—I just can’t.” There was no way he could put himself through the motions now, not with the shame and fear tearing through his body.

“Okay.” Johnny heard the disappointment in Ten’s voice, but with it came acceptance. “It’s okay, Johnny, really,” he continued. “I’m not saying that to—to convince you to, or whatever. I just don’t want you to worry. It’ll be okay.”

_How can it be okay?_ Johnny shrugged quickly as he stood. “I’m sorry anyway,” he said, and escaped out the door.

He felt awful; he was sure Ten was sad and confused. Maybe he thought Johnny was using him; maybe he thought Johnny was one of those “straight” guys who were so deep in the closet they could get caught fucking a guy and still firmly believe they weren’t gay. The thought was sickening, but somehow it was still better than the truth. He’d rather Ten think of him as some repressed idiot than what he really was—the pathetic person who so desperately wanted Ten’s everything without deserving any of it; the monster, the villain who took Ten’s misguided attention even though he knew he shouldn’t; gobbled it all up and still had the audacity to be greedy for more. 

“You’re a piece of shit,” he muttered to his reflection that night, drying off from a shower. “You’re a piece of shit, and one of these days everyone around you is going to figure it out, too, and you’ll be alone. No one is _ever_ going to love you. Got it?”

And truly, he had no specific _thing_ he could point to if someone asked what it was that he thought made him unworthy. All he could do was gesture to his whole person; somewhere along the line, he’d become convinced he wasn’t good enough at anything he did, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to overcome it. 

So their hookups went back to how they’d been a couple months before—cold and distant. Detached, just the way Johnny liked them; quick and efficient. They didn’t hang out as much, either—Ten was closer to other trainees and members now, and so was Johnny, so it wasn’t like they only had each other. And it wasn’t like Johnny needed Ten in order to be happy. It was just that he always missed him when he was gone. 

A few months later, after the heartbreak of 127 debuting without him, Johnny was added to the lineup. Ten wasn’t included. It was good, in a way, that they had drifted apart, that they had become accustomed to each other’s absence. When they did see each other now, it was fleeting and silent. Johnny usually knocked on Ten’s door right before he was heading to bed, or Ten would appear in his room with raised eyebrows, already prepped. And that’s how it was meant to be. _No one is ever going to love you. Got it?_

They both just let it happen, and before they knew it, it was the night before the release of the Limitless video. Johnny went to Ten’s, of course, maybe in search of some kind of release, or some sick, twisted form of comfort. But all he got was a weird feeling of finality. The air felt heavy with something Johnny didn’t know how to name. As he gathered his things, he heard Ten take a breath.

“I don’t think we should keep doing this.” Though his voice was soft and quiet, it left no room for argument—as if Johnny ever would. He knew this day was coming; had known it from the start. “We—we’ll be doing very different things with ourselves. And we don’t really need each other anymore.”

Johnny searched within himself, probing at his own heart to see how it felt. And though it was painful, it also came with an overwhelming sense of relief. _Ten_ was making the choice to move on. Johnny didn’t even have to hurt him to make it happen. _And if I’m hurt from it—well. That’s just collateral damage, right? It’s not a big deal._ “Okay,” he said, realizing Ten was waiting for a reply. He didn’t want to turn to face Ten; didn’t want Ten to see how blank he was to this. “That’s fine.”

“Good luck tomorrow,” Ten said.

“Thanks,” Johnny replied, and, just like he had hundreds of times before, he slipped out the door, down the hall, across the connection bridge, and back to his own dorm.

His and Taeyong’s room was dark when he came back, but Taeyong was awake, scrolling through his phone. Johnny dropped his things by the door and padded across the room to crawl into bed, lighting the way with his phone flashlight.

“Are you okay?” Taeyong asked as he got settled.

“Yeah, why?” Johnny’s voice sounded strange in his own ears.

“It’s just—you’re crying,” Taeyong replied.

“Oh.” Johnny brought his hand up to his cheek and found it wet. “I—yeah, I’m fine. Just, um, nervous for the release.”

Taeyong smiled kindly. “It’ll be okay. You did great.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said, pretending to be soothed. “I’m going to try to sleep, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Taeyong said, not at all fooled. “If you need anything, though, you can talk to me. I’m going to stay up.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, turning over to face the wall and shutting his eyes.

He didn’t sleep. Images of Ten played in his head. _It’s done now,_ he thought, _it’s over. You can stop worrying about him. In time, he’ll hardly remember it. Maybe one day your old friendship will recover._

But it was never really friendship. Johnny had a fondness for Ten from the beginning that stretched beyond the bounds of friendship; it had been a tainted relationship from the start, Johnny’s horrible craving a dark stain that no amount of self-restraint or time could wash out. Johnny hoped it would be a lesson for him, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t learn. He was as obstinate as he was repulsive; though he knew his faults, somehow he could never manage to fix them. And perhaps it was all for the best. Maybe Johnny was just fundamentally unlovable. But that’s what he got for being the way he was. 

And though he knew he hadn’t deserved it, he also knew he’d cling to the memories of the time he spent with Ten. Most of it was odd and hollow, but he’d carry it, all of it, with him in his heart until he died. And that really was the final straw. While in the future, Ten would be well-loved by someone who was right for him, Johnny would replay the way he kissed him again and again as he lay alone in bed waiting for sleep to overtake him. Like a pathetic creep. 

  
_No one is ever going to love you,_ he thought wearily to himself, an exhausted smile on his lips. _Got it?_ It was nice, in a way. At least he knew his fate.


	2. Chapter 2

_What do I do with the wreckage of my heart?_ It was stupid, really; Johnny hardly saw Ten anymore, now that they were both busy with their schedules. He heard news about him from time to time, just in passing— _Ten has a solo coming out soon; Ten hurt his knees and he’s gonna be on hiatus for a few months—_ but they never spoke, not even when they happened to pass each other in the halls. Johnny made an effort not to make eye contact—it was easier that way, he figured; if there was no contact, there would be no possibility that he and Ten would repeat their mistakes.

And as happy as Johnny was to bear this kind of hurt, there was an ugly, selfish part of him that still wanted. A strange little voice would pop into his head sometimes when he let his mind wander just a bit too far. _Why can’t you love him_? it asked. Johnny had a million answers, but none of them appeased the voice, so he just tried his best to ignore it. 

One night, Taeyong didn’t come back to their room. Perplexed, Johnny didn’t think much of it until he saw him with Ten at breakfast the next morning. And then things began to fall into place—that’s why Johnny rarely saw Ten by himself anymore; that’s why Taeyong was spending less time in their room, why he wasn’t talking to Johnny as much. _Isn’t this what I wanted?_ he thought to himself miserably. _I was always saying Ten should have someone better. Taeyong is about as good as it gets_. Taeyong was everything Johnny wasn’t—small, pretty, and sweet, with a good heart and an openness about him that could make just about anybody let down their guard. Clearly, it worked on Ten.

Johnny let himself get lost in his heartache a little bit for the next week or so. He hung out with his younger friends and mostly just went through the motions for his work. He was never the best at anything, so the instructors didn’t really notice that his dance was lacking. He started working out more—at least then maybe he’d have something going for himself, you know? Every time some convoluted, self-serving thought crossed his mind; every time he found himself angry at Ten or jealous of Taeyong, he found a way to punish himself for it, whether it was eating less or sleeping less or pinching bits of sensitive skin between two nails until it burned. If he couldn’t will himself to be better, then maybe he could at least train himself to not be as terrible. At any rate, it stopped the waves of self-hatred from being so violent, because he’d already punished himself, so his mind could finally leave him alone.

And then the worst possible thing happened. It was announced that they would have a full group comeback—all members of previous subunits, along with a few new additions, would be participating in a full album. Johnny was simultaneously thoroughly horrified and oddly excited. Maybe they’d be able to work something out. Or maybe Johnny would find Ten changed, and he wouldn’t like him so much anymore. But, more likely than anything else, Johnny would have to watch Ten do what he did best. He would have to watch him be perfect and pretend he wasn’t looking. This was what Johnny knew would happen, but knowing beforehand didn’t help any. Ten left him and fell in love with somebody else, and he would thrive and grow into the best version of himself, and become so happy, and Johnny would watch.

It really fucking sucked, because they’d have to pretend to be friends on camera—as far as all the fans knew, they were still best friends. So they did Vlives together, sat next to each other during interviews, joked around on set; but as soon as the cameras were off, Ten walked away without a word before Johnny could even open his mouth.

Not that he knew what he would say if Ten even gave him the chance. What on earth was he _supposed_ to say? _I let you leave me because I thought it was for the best, because I know you could do better, but the problem is I still want you? I thought I would be fine, but it’s killing me? I miss you so fucking much every day, and I don’t know what to do about it, and I don’t think it’s gonna go away? I’m sorry, but I’m in love with you?_ Every sentence sounded worse than the last.

If only it wasn’t Taeyong that Ten had ended up with. Maybe Johnny could speak up, if it had been literally anybody else, but Ten had chosen the sweetest, kindest person, and Johnny’s roommate, no less, so there was no helping it. 

He often wondered if Ten had told Taeyong about it. He knew they’d never been terribly subtle around the other members, so Taeyong had to know there had been something there. Johnny wondered if Ten told Taeyong how Johnny had pushed him away, how Johnny was confused, how Johnny was one of those gay guys that would never admit it to himself and end up unhappy with a woman he could never love. He wondered what Taeyong thought of him.

It wasn’t that he and Taeyong weren’t close. Johnny had a long-standing friendship with Taeyong since they were the same age, and they often stayed up chatting at night. That was a little different now—Johnny knew Taeyong and Ten were fucking, and Taeyong _knew_ that Johnny knew, so their conversations were short and shallow. Just another casualty in the wake of Johnny’s poor decisions. 

But one night, Taeyong sat down on his bed, facing Johnny, and said, “Hey, can we talk about something?”

Johnny put his phone down. “Um, sure?”

“Me and Ten,” Taeyong began. “It’s not—it’s not serious. We’re just—keeping each other company for the time being. He knows that, too. I don’t want to say a whole lot about it, because that’s his business, and it’s also his job to talk to you, but we don’t—we’re not in love.”

“Oh.” Johnny just stared at him, too many emotions swirling around his head to quite know how to respond. _Talk to me? And say—what? That he’s sorry for ever letting anything happen between us?_ “Uh, okay.”

“You should talk to him,” Taeyong continued. “I told him he should, but I don’t know if he’ll listen to me. I know he’ll probably try to brush you off, but…”

“Does he even want to talk to me?” Johnny asked.

Taeyong nodded. “He just doesn’t know how, I think.”

“And what about you?”

“Me?” Taeyong blinked. “What do you mean?”

“If you don’t love him, then why are you with him?” Johnny asked. “Who are _you_ running away from?”

Taeyong gave him a sad little smile. “It’s Doyoung,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Does… does Ten know?” Johnny asked.

“No,” Taeyong said, giving him an unreadable look.

* * *

Johnny was fifteen when he realized he was gay. He’d already been training for a few years, and though he’d made friends and gotten used to the chaotic ebb and flow of life in Korea, he hardly felt at home in the SM dorms. He was lucky, because the older boys looked out for him, and he had a few consultants. 

He told Sehun first. Sehun had been out to some of the other trainees for quite some time, so Johnny figured he was a safe bet. He was right. Sehun just grinned and recommended a porn site, and told him he was in good company. He told Jongin and Chanyeol next, at the same time, and Jongin had given him a sweet, bright smile while Chanyeol crowed his disbelief.

Finally, he told Junmyeon, who wrapped him into a hug. Even at fifteen, Johnny was taller than a lot of his hyungs, but though he had few inches in Junmyeon, he still held Johnny like he was the gangly little twelve year old he had been when they first met, fresh off his audition, homesick and lost in the wrong section of the dorm. He petted the back of Johnny’s head even though he had to reach up to do it, and told him he’d be just fine.

“I like boys, too,” Junmyeon said, smiling at him. “Boys, and girls. So I understand. I’m happy for you, and I’m happy you told me.” Johnny couldn’t help but smile back. “If anybody gives you trouble, let me know, okay? I’ll beat them up.”

Even though Junmyeon was already an adult, Johnny really couldn’t imagine him beating anybody up. He had always been soft-spoken and softhearted. “Will you?” he asked, a little dubious.

Junmyeon laughed, caught in his lie. “Well, I’ll tell Kibum-hyung, and _he’ll_ beat them up. With Minho, if they’re on good terms that day.”

Oddly reassured, Johnny thanked him. Still, he’d kind of regretted telling them. It wasn’t that he didn’t think they’d keep it to themselves, or that they’d judge him for it. It was just embarrassing, because he’d never do anything with it, and they’d pity him. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t deserve it.

He waited to tell his parents, partially because it wasn’t always convenient to call, but also because he was a little afraid of what they’d say. He knew they probably wouldn’t mind, but there’s always a difference between supporting something in theory, and then suddenly having it enter your life in a personal way. But eventually, he couldn’t keep making up excuses and he found himself on the phone with his mother

“How are you?” his mother asked. “Aside from training?”

“Mom,” he said. “Will you get Dad? I have something to tell you.”

“Sure, one second.” There was some shuffling, and then she said, “Okay, honey, you’re on speaker.”

“I, um,” Johnny stuttered. “I like boys.”

“Oh, thank god,” Johnny heard his father say, somewhat faintly. “Now I don’t have to worry about you getting some poor girl pregnant.”

“Oh, stop it, Johnny’s responsible. Besides, trans boys exist,” Johnny’s mom said evenly. “But that’s great, honey,” she added to Johnny. He could hear the warmth of her smile. “We’re proud of you, and we love you, no matter what, okay?”

“No matter what,” his father repeated in agreement.

Tears sprang to Johnny’s eyes. Somehow, it was worse to get their approval, in a way. His life was _good_ —he had friends to support him, and his parents accepted him without batting an eye. So why was it still so hard? Why was he still so sad? Everyone else was happy for him; why couldn’t he be happy for himself, too? He found himself wishing it was all just a little bit worse—that his parents had hesitated, that he didn’t have friends to talk about it with—or a lot bit better—that he was prettier, more talented, less clumsy. Either way, it would make everything right; he’d either be justified in his sorrow, or he wouldn’t feel the need to be sorrowful in the first place.

It was the same sort of thing with Ten, now. He wished there was either a little more to be hurt about—that they’d actually had a fight, that Johnny had tried his best to be with Ten and it still hadn’t worked out—or that there was nothing at all to be hurt about—that they’d never kissed, that Johnny had never found himself in love with him. _Then I wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore_. There would be something to do about it, or nothing to do anything about. 

_If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more_. Jane Austen, _Emma_. He realized now he had let it build and build, and he’d kept ignoring it because it _isn’t something I’m allowed to feel. I can’t want like that, because I’m me_. He didn’t know how else to explain it; that was something he’d just always assumed. And still, he was pulled into the consuming vortex of his love for Ten—an ugly love, poisoned by the ways Johnny wanted him. 

* * *

Johnny tried to take Taeyong’s advice. He tried to talk to Ten; tried to grab him and say, “hey, do you have a minute?” But Ten always slipped out of his grip and disappeared from view. Johnny didn’t want to push it. How could he? He felt terrible enough about it as it was.

To be fair, they were quite busy. Promotions kept them on their toes, and Johnny was tired most nights. Johnny couldn’t blame Ten for wanting to just ignore all his problems and sleep. But it _was_ eating at him.

And then, one afternoon, Johnny and Taeyong were sitting quietly in their room, doing absolutely nothing, when a knock came at the door and Ten appeared. Taeyong took one look between them, and picked up a few of his things and left, and suddenly, for the first time in a year, Johnny and Ten were alone. 

“I think we need to talk,” Ten said.

Johnny kind of wanted to scream. _No shit._ But he just turned it into a breath of laughter. “I think we do. I tried,” he added before he could stop himself. “You know. Earlier.”

“I know.” Ten fidgeted, picking at his nails. “I’m—I’m sorry.” He paused, looking at Johnny intently. “I miss you.” His voice was soft and vulnerable, and Johnny was thrown by the realization that he’d been wrong this entire time. Ten wasn’t here to tell him to forget. But then—what?

“I miss you, too,” Johnny said quickly, trying not to betray how raw that missing was—how he’d missed him every single day, how it hadn’t gotten any easier. 

“We can’t go back to how it was before, though,” Ten said, and Johnny’s heart sank a little. Still, he was right. Whatever was going on before was helpful for no one.

“No,” he agreed. “We can’t.”

There was another stretch of silence. Johnny didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to presume anything by what Ten said, mainly because Ten had hardly said anything at all. He teetered on the edge of some precipice, paralyzed by fear. Ten wasn’t looking at him. All he could hear was the rain beating against the windows, and his own breath.

“It’s okay if you don’t like me like that.” Ten broke the silence, his voice small. “We don’t have to—be a couple, or whatever. I can deal with that.” Johnny swallowed, clinging to his words. “What I can’t deal with is not being friends with you.”

“You think I don’t want that? Being together?” Johnny blurted, and Ten stared, clearly shocked. “I just—I never knew how. Besides, it’s not like I could ever imagine that you’d want somebody like me.” It’s a familiar grief, but still, it pierces him, a thorn in his tongue, to say it. “And when I saw you with Taeyong—I thought I was right.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Ten asked bluntly.

“I—yeah, maybe,” Johnny said honestly, the hint of real laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Why?”

Ten _did_ laugh, and it broke the tension a little. Warmth flooded back into the room as quickly as it had been sapped out. “No, seriously. Johnny.” Ten peeled himself off the wall, crossing to Johnny, and collecting his hands in his palms. Johnny tilted his head, looking up at him, not sure what to do. “Johnny,” Ten repeated, softer. “How could I not want you?”

It was like a punch to the stomach. It wasn’t that he hadn’t really known, he supposed. He thought back to those weeks where things were good, where they kissed like it was real. Johnny had explained it all away because—really, what was more terrible than the truth, sometimes? “I’m not—this isn’t how I’m supposed to be, right?” Johnny said, shifting around. How was he supposed to explain it? “I should be pretty and slender. Like Taeyong. Like you.”

“That’s stupid, and you know it,” Ten said. Johnny felt sort of chastised; he kept his gaze down. “Johnny, you’re beautiful, and I want you so much it hurts, but how was I supposed to know that was okay with you when you never opened up to me?” Johnny has to suppress a noise of pain. He feels like he’s being clobbered on the head with a baseball bat; Ten is being so open, and he’s saying all the things that Johnny was secretly afraid he would say, that he even more secretly wished to hear. “That’s why I said we had to stop, you know—I thought it didn’t mean anything, and I didn’t want that anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Johnny squeezed Ten’s hands. He wanted so desperately to reassure him, but he didn’t know how without pulling his heart from his chest and dissecting it in Ten’s lap. “It wasn’t like that, I promise. I just didn’t know what to do with myself.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Ten replied. “I should’ve spoken up sooner.” He sighed, laughing on the exhale. “We definitely need to talk about it some more, but can I kiss you? Please?”

“God, yes,” Johnny said, giving in to the burn in the pit of his belly, pulling Ten close and pressing his lips to his. Ten ended up crashing into his lap with the force of it, but they both just laughed, and kept kissing.

Johnny couldn’t stop smiling, not when Ten was whimpering under his hands as he fucked him open with his fingers, slow and sweet. _Let’s do it right this time._ He wanted to learn, really learn, how to make Ten feel good, so he took his time. Johnny couldn’t stop smiling, even when Ten asked if he could ride him, and they shuffled around awkwardly, even when they bumped knees in the process.

But suddenly, gazing up at Ten as he bottomed out, Johnny felt overwhelmed. The same feelings of guilt lashed against his mind like the rain on the windowpanes. He covered his face with his hands—it was too raw; he was too seen.

But Ten, _perfect, perfect Ten_ , leaned forward and coaxed Johnny’s fingers away. “Hey,” he said. “Don’t try and hide from me now. It’s too late for that.” Johnny stopped fighting, letting Ten guide his hands away. “I’ve already seen you. I already know you.” Ten’s eyes were intent and genuine, and _god_ , it broke Johnny’s fucking heart in the best way possible. As much as a part of him could wish and wish that it wasn’t true, he knew Ten was right. He was too far gone. His feelings for Ten were already out in the open. It would do no good now to try and scoop them back up out of sight.

* * *

When Johnny woke the next morning, Ten was still asleep, tucked into his side like he belonged there. Taeyong had snuck back in sometime late last night, because he was shifting around under the covers in the bed next to him. 

As delicately as he could, Johnny pried himself away from Ten, settling the covers back around his shoulders before the cold could wake him. There were deep purple hickeys littered over his neck and chest, and Johnny couldn’t help but grin to himself a little.

“Hey,” he whispered, crossing the few steps to the edge of Taeyong’s bed and placing his hand on his shoulder. 

Taeyong rolled over, setting his phone to the side. “Hey,” he said. His eyes were happy, which Johnny took as a good sign. “Glad you guys worked it out.”

“Yeah, there’s still a little more work to do,” Johnny admitted. “But, um, do you wanna come grab coffee with me? We can go to that bakery down the street and talk. I have a feeling he’ll be asleep for a little while.”

“Sure,” Taeyong agreed, stretching. “Leave him a note.”

“I will.” Johnny rooted around for a notebook and a pen, and scribbled out:

_Hey Ten,_

_I figured I should let you sleep. I’m taking Taeyong out for coffee_

_to be like “sorry for stealing the room and also your fuckbuddy”_

_lol. you guys should probably talk, too. And so should we. we’ll_

_be back soon. The water is for you._

_— JS_

He placed it on the nightstand with a bottle of water and turned to see Taeyong tugging on a big t-shirt. 

“Wear a turtleneck,” he said, pointing at Johnny’s throat. Johnny pressed his lips together in silent laughter, and did as he was told.

By some miracle, they made it out of the room without disturbing Ten. They tiptoed down the halls, laughing when the elevator doors closed safely behind them.

“So did you talk, or was it just—” Taeyong gestured to Johnny’s neck.

“We talked a little,” Johnny said, fiddling with his shirt. “We’ll talk more today. What about you and Doyoung? You look happy.”

“We talked, too,” Taeyong replied. “Among… other things.”

“Well, good.” The elevator dinged, and Johnny followed Taeyong out.

“Ten was convinced you were a repressed idiot who could never like him the way he needed,” Taeyong informed him. “I told him he might be reading a little too much into it.”

“I am a repressed idiot,” Johnny said, “but not like that.” He ran his hand through his hair, holding the door to the coffee shop open for Taeyong. “I just don’t think I deserve nice things, let alone someone like Ten.”

Taeyong gave him a look. “Why on earth do you think that?”

“There’s just something… off about me,” Johnny said, shrugging. “I’m not quite right.”

They ordered, and shuffled along to wait for their drinks. “What about you isn’t right?” Taeyong asked.

“I don’t… look gay,” Johnny said. 

“Johnny.” Taeyong rolled his eyes. “Does it fucking matter? Does your looking gay make you a better partner to Ten?”

“Well, I’m also kind of a dumbass,” Johnny added. “And often a piece of shit. I dunno. Ten’s… Ten. And I’m me. And I just feel like he shouldn’t be weighed down by all my bullshit.”

They grabbed their drinks off the counter and picked their way towards the door. “You think Ten isn’t a dumbass and a piece of shit sometimes? You at least managed to guess what was going on in his head. He doesn’t even think to wonder what someone else is thinking. He’s too wrapped up in his world of angst to bother. He’s got a whole truckload of his own bullshit. If anything, he’d be weighing you down.” Taeyong paused to take a sip of his coffee. “But that’s the thing, you know? We all have our bullshit. You’re willing to put up with his, yes?”

“I—yeah, of course I am,” Johnny replied.

“And he’s willing to put up with yours.” Taeyong shrugged. “That’s all that really matters. You’re not broken, Johnny. You’re exactly the way you’re supposed to be. And with the right people holding your hands, you’ll become something better. That’s not just true for you. It’s true for everybody.”

“Yeah, but I—I’m already a lot to deal with, as a person,” Johnny protested. “I should—I should be better.”

Taeyong stopped walking. “You and Ten are so alike,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re both so convinced that your weird little things that make you fucking _human_ are the reason you don’t deserve love.”

“Do I?” Johnny asked. He didn’t really know why he was asking Taeyong like he had all the answers to everything—but, well. That was sort of the thing about Taeyong. He was great for advice.

“Of course you do,” Taeyong said, linking his arm with Johnny’s. “Now go explain to him that you felt unworthy of him, and he’ll die of laughter, and then everything will be okay.”

“I—okay,” Johnny said. “Do you guys need to talk?”

Taeyong hummed in the back of his throat as they reentered the building. “Probably. But it won’t be bad. We’re all people who just want to be happy, after all.”

* * *

A full year and a half later found Johnny still worrying, but his heart was lighter now. Even through various world tours, and the insanity that was NCT 2020, he and Ten came home to each other. And they certainly had their disagreements and misunderstandings, but it was nothing they didn’t know how to handle. 

Their performances for the SMTOWN show were all prerecorded, so they spent New Year’s Eve together in the dorm. Taeyong was injured and resting, and Johnny watched fondly as Doyoung brought him snacks and drinks and covered him with kisses. Donghyuck would be spending the night in Mark’s room, so Johnny and Ten had Johnny’s room to themselves.

Ten dragged him away from the party early, giggling and drunk on way too much champagne, kissing him stupid before they even made it all the way down the hall. Johnny found himself half naked by the time the door had swung shut, but he didn’t mind in the slightest, letting Ten cover his body with kisses.

“I can’t believe they’re making you dye it back,” Ten whined, running his fingers through Johnny’s hair. “The blonde is so pretty.”

“I look more handsome with dark hair, though,” Johnny pointed out.

“Yeah, but you look so gorgeous blonde,” Ten replied, stumbling a little as he pushed Johnny onto his bed. “Why don’t you do a fun color? Like blue or pink?”

“I think I’d look really weird,” Johnny said, laughing. “I don’t think I’m meant for wild hair colors.”

“You look good no matter what,” Ten said, and Johnny laughed. “C’mon, don’t just lie there, fuck me.”

Johnny shook his head, grinning, and pushed Ten off of him so he could roll over. He could hear laughter from their group mates floating down the hall; snow was promised to Seoul soon, and Johnny’s heart was full. “How could I say no?” he murmured, and Ten just giggled, scrunching his nose. 

Johnny had never loved him more. What was better, he realized as he bent over Ten, lips pressed to his flushed skin, he’d love him even more tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah... an ending! thank you to those of you who stuck with this, who loved it and took time to leave kudos or a comment. I truly never expected any sort of response to this work at all.
> 
> say hey on [tumblr](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/_kjmsupremacist) im new to the bird app so help me figure it out! i update my tumblr frequently with news of wips, posting schedules, and stuff like that!
> 
> and if u have a few dollars to spare, i'd rly appreciate if you could buy me a coffee. link is on my about page on my tumblr (which the above link takes u to!)


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